They drove home in silence. At a set of traffic lights on a half-remembered intersection, Irenya saw a car model she recognised. The sight pushed aside her agony for a few seconds. The car was a Holden Kingswood. When she had last walked those streets, the car was probably a polluting wreck on a ramshackle farm. Now, the lovingly restored duco gleamed with metallic gold newness. The driver returned her stare and stuck out his tongue in a lewd parody that belied slicked-back hair and a business suit.
In the security of Natalie’s home, Irenya asked the questions uppermost in her mind. ‘What did you see, Nat? What did you hear?’
Natalie paused. Her finger hovered over the button of the boiling water dispenser. ‘I shouldn’t have used your name. So stupid of me! It set Mike off in a bad way.
